


Legacy

by local_enginerd



Series: From the Ashes [8]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-19 02:14:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11887764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/local_enginerd/pseuds/local_enginerd
Summary: The scene before Fareeha Amari is this: the golden crest of the United Nations looms over her, flanked by flags emblazoned with a familiar logo - Overwatch.As Overwatch rises from the ashes, the ghosts of the past rise with it.





	Legacy

**The Necropolis, Giza. 13:00 Hours Ago.**

“We should be there, you know.”

It is not a question, but a statement that Ana Amari makes. Her one remaining eye is glued to the transcripts on her old communicator when she says this.

_Overwatch to be recommissioned by General Secretary Adawe. Captain Fareeha Amari and Jesse McCree to be named Strike Commanders at United Nations Headquarters. End transmission._

The device hiccuped as Ana shut it off, one of the few relics of her time at Overwatch. Like the sniper, it too bears the scars of her time there. Along its edges, a series of nicks - one for every kill order she received. All had a twin on her rifle, except one.

In the dark, she blinked away a tear. The pride that she feels for her daughter is threatening to slip under a torrent of fear - she’d once been foolish enough to hope that Fareeha would never have to look down either end of a gun. Yet, in her heart of hearts, Ana always knew that nothing could have kept someone as noble as Fareeha from her calling.

No. _Our_ calling.

“Like mother, like daughter, huh?” The Soldier seemed to read her mind, his visor boring into her. It doesn’t faze the sniper; she counts this as another blessing. After all these years, there are few people left in the world who can claim to know her as well as Jack Morrison does.

The old soldiers exchanged a wordless glance.

_May Allah watch over her. May he watch over us all._

**Talon HQ, Classified Location. 09:45 Hours Ago.**

“We cannot simply allow this new Overwatch to reform. It could set us back years, a gamble that I am unwilling to accept.” Maximilien’s speakers droned; the omnic’s lights flickered in crimson. And, for a moment, only the whirring inside his machinery hung above the room.

In another heartbeat, the council erupted into chaos, clearly not all of the inner circle agreed.

“I’m not sending my men into the UN, that’s a goddamn suicide mission,” a general spat. His mustache twitched as he slammed a hand onto the table. “Unlike you, _omnic_ , we don’t simply rebuild.”

All around the chamber, chairs fell back as the Talon elite rose to their feet. A lifetime ago, Gabriel Reyes watched Overwatch command splinter in the same way.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Akande’s voice rose above the din. “We must strike while the iron is still hot. I say we attack, it is time Talon truly steps out from the shadows.”

Gabriel remembered a time when Fareeha Amari was a child, one who ate ice cream too fast. A time when Jesse McCree was just a teenager, caught in the political spiderweb woven by a rich man’s blood-stained hands.

The Reaper knows that every defeat that Talon has been dealt was been at the hands of these two Overwatch agents - the same agents who are soon to be reinstated officially. Pharah, the Helix Strike Team leader who crippled a God Program; the commander around whom the ashes of the phoenix were rallying behind. McCree, whose knowledge of Blackwatch protocol make him one of the greatest threats of all; the botched train heist was more than proof of that.

“Enough.” The Reaper rasped through the chamber. “Yes, the world turns in fear of us, but it does not yet trust Overwatch. It does not yet believe in them. Don’t give it a reason to.”

“Are you going soft on Overwatch, Reaper?” Akande leaned forwards. There was no way the strategist could’ve known the assassin’s identity, but yet...

“If I recall, your strike team failed at Gibraltar, at Volskaya...need I say more, Reaper?”

The inner circle glanced nervously between the commanders as the commotion began to settle. Tendrils of the Reaper’s wraith crept outwards, pulsing as he exhaled.

_ Breathe, no need to go ghost on us, compadre. _ Sombra’s voice came across the private channel.  _ He only knows as much as you want him to. _

The Reaper inhaled, the smoke solidifying inside his robes. Beneath his mask, his gaze bored into Akande’s eyes.

“You want to tell the world that Talon fears the ragtag mess they call a peacekeeping organization?” The assassin’s voice hissed through the bone-white mask, aiming at the chinks in the tactician’s armor. “Attacking Overwatch at the UN is not only shortsighted, but it only serves to legitimize them. Now, we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

Judging by the look on Akande’s face, he hasn’t missed his mark. The council murmurs amongst itself. Dozens of eyes glance between Doomfist and the Reaper, standing at opposite ends of the oak table.

**United Nations HQ, New York City. Present.**

The scene before Fareeha Amari is this: the golden crest of the United Nations looms over her, flanked by flags emblazoned with a familiar logo - Overwatch. Yet, the circular logo is not the same one that flew on the deep blue banners of the Omnic Crisis. A symbol of the cooperation between the UN and Helix Security, the new Overwatch was to be founded under Helix’s black and gold.

Gabrielle Adawe, now Secretary General of the UN, stands at the front of the stage. Fareeha notes that the official’s hair has greyed and the lines across her face deepened since they met last. Neither could have imagined they would cross paths again like this.

(Last the two women saw each other, it was at the ceremony in Ana’s memory.)

 _This was all possible because of you, you know? Your mother would be so proud to see the hero you’ve become_ , the Secretary General had whispered to her just hours before.

Fareeha maintains her composure and straightens in her HSI dress uniform as the Secretary General pins the insignia on her.

Having been pardoned just weeks earlier, Jesse McCree is on her right, the two thick as thieves since youth. He stands in his uniform, one that hasn’t seen daylight in years, as Adawe pins the matching insignia onto him as well. There’s really no one else Fareeha would rather have with her on stage in this moment.

No one except perhaps Angela Ziegler, that is. Squinting against the hundreds of cameras, Fareeha easily picks the doctor’s face out in the crowd. The other members to be reinstated - Angela, Tracer, Winston, and Genji - stand in a row before the stage, their insignias already conferred.

Stepping back, the Secretary General salutes at the two new Strike Commanders. As Fareeha snaps a salute back, she catches movement out of the corner of her eye. A cloaked figure emerges from the crowd, but her alarm fades into pride as the figure gives a salute of her own.

Fareeha catches a glimpse of the wedjat on her mother’s face as the sniper fades back into the crowd. She turns back to the agents, no, her family as the crowd bursts into applause.

And, like pieces of a puzzle, they come together as one. As Overwatch.


End file.
